Promises and signed contracts to the contrary, she couldn’t imagine that Napoleon Bonaparte’s son would ever be allowed to leave.
“And here we are at last.” The Prince de Ligne lifted his walking stick in anticipation of stepping outside, even as the carriage wound its way through the busy assortment of carriages, hurrying servants, strolling courtiers, and guards who filled the great paved courtyard between the palace’s outstretched golden wings. His keen gaze was already sweeping the crowd. “For all our much-vaunted technological advances, the journey from the city seems to me to grow ever longer, rather than shorter.”
“A pity,” Michael said. “It is grand indeed for a summer palace.” He slid a glance at Caroline and lowered one eyelid fractionally. “It quite dwarfs my own family’s small summer residence.”
It was too much. “However can you say so, Prince Kalishnikoff,” Caroline said sweetly, “when I remember it so very … fondly?”
Michael choked back a laugh, his eyes alight. “I think nostalgia may have clouded your memory, Lady Wyndham.”
“Hardly,” Caroline said. “My memories remain entirely clear.”
They had, after all, lived in the same tiny apartment all year round.
Across from them, the prince blinked and refocused his sharp attention on them. “I’d thought you only visited England yourself, Prince Kalishnikoff, rather than ever having our charming Lady Wyndham as your guest?”
Damnation. Caroline hadn’t thought to check with Michael on the history he’d invented for himself.
Well, it was his fault, not hers. Let him extricate himself from it. She turned to look at him in simulated surprise. “Did you not mention my own visit, Prince Kalishnikoff? I’m quite offended—it was such a highlight of my youth.” She lifted her chin. “Perhaps it was not so memorable for you …”
“On the contrary. It remains one of my finest memories—I had only forgotten to mention it yesterday. I can’t imagine how it slipped my mind.” Michael turned back to the prince. “Lady Wyndham and her husband did visit my humble palace for a month’s stay just before my country was invaded.”
“Ah. So that would be …”
“My second husband,” Caroline inserted. Her gloved fingers tightened around her skirts as bleak memory intruded into the game.
It had been childish and absurd to enter such a pretense only to score a point off Michael Steinhüller. He might treat everything as a game, but she should and did know better.
“Indeed,” Michael seconded. “A charming fellow. I always wished I’d known him better.”
“Mm,” said Caroline.
Wyndham wouldn’t even have condescended to nod in the street to a “damned Continental adventurer,” as he would most certainly have termed Michael on first glance … and he would certainly never have allowed Caroline to maintain such a connection.
Her past—and her secrets—had been no part of their bargain.
The carriage drew to a halt, and Caroline turned with relief to the opening door. Waiting footmen laid out the carriage steps, and the Prince de Ligne gestured gallantly for her to walk out first.
The air felt chill and bracing, despite the crowd of chattering nobles emerging from their own conveyances, royal guards marching across the courtyard with glittering dress swords on full display, and busy servants bustling around all of them. Caroline drew a deep breath as she looked across the swarming activity to the palace whose wings enfolded them all.
Schönbrunn’s three stories rose in golden grandeur before them, the large side wings bunching toward the great central building. Elegant half-pillars lined the façade in gilded cream stripes, alternating with arched windows against the deep gold walls. Stone spires rose in martial formations atop the roof of the main building; in the very center, above fanned-out swords and shields and the symbols of victory, a Habsburg double-headed eagle spread out its wings in conquest. Caroline felt her chest tighten in response, as if it would squeeze all breath and hope from her.
She had never seen Schönbrunn before, never been held captive here or anywhere else outside Vienna’s city walls. But in its elegant architectural assumptions of dominion, it represented all of the smug, unthinking power that had imprisoned her and her father and cared nothing for their fates.
How could she hope to stand against it on her own?
“Lady Wyndham,” Michael murmured. He stood beside her, his eyebrows drawing down with concern. “Are you unwell?”
“No, of course not.” She rearranged her features to serene lines, drawing away from him. “I’m quite well, thank you.”
And not quite alone, she corrected herself. She had been wise enough this time, at least, to hire a valuable ally, in the form of her secretary. Charles was loyal and—potentially—dangerous in his own right, just as she had hoped when she had chosen him.
And yet …
She remembered again the avidity in his voice and look the night before. The chill air swept through her thin, waist-length jacket, and she shivered.
Dangerous, yes, Charles could certainly be that. But—if she mishandled him by so much as a breath—dangerous to whom?
She knew better than to ply herself with false reassurances. Still, she was no green girl anymore, to be used and flung away without mercy. Caroline raised her eyes again to the cruel, curved beaks of the Habsburg eagle and set her jaw.
She, too, was a power to be reckoned with now. And she would not allow fear—or anything else—to hold her back.
“Aha.” The Prince de Ligne pointed. “I do believe …”
Beyond the larger side wings, low arches formed open walkways on each side of the palace, leading to the lines of stables and servants’ wings. Through one of the arches, a group of figures moved toward them—a small child flanked by a nursemaid and a tall, stooped man.
The prince strode forward, cutting through the crowd, and Caroline and Michael followed more slowly. Caroline bit back a reluctant smile as she saw the child’s impatient attempt at a run cut off by his nursemaid’s restraining hands.
“Too young for court manners,” Michael murmured, in her ear.
“He’s probably been at court since birth,” Caroline replied, low-voiced. The sounds of the crowd effectively hid their conversation even from the prince, five feet ahead of them. “Poor boy.”
“Fortunate boy, most would say, to be born into that kind of power and wealth.”
“Not so much power anymore.” Caroline lifted her skirts to step carefully over a pile of horse droppings. “And I wouldn’t say fortunate at all to be born into such a life. To be observed on all sides at every moment, forced into strict observances, always held under a magnifying glass of scrutiny and judgment …”
“As you are now, you mean?” Michael cupped his hand under her arm to steer her away from a second pile. “You’ve become one of the great ladies of the English aristocracy. Don’t tell me that was a mere accident.”
She tensed in his grip. “That … is none of your concern.”
“Come now,” Michael whispered, as they halted, along with everyone else, to make way for the line of marching royal guards, boots clicking and swords shining in the sunlight. “Don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying any of this. An honored guest at all the great palaces—a wealthy widow, admired by everyone—don’t tell me you wouldn’t do it all again, in a heartbeat.”
“If I could do it all again …” Caroline cut the words off with a snap as the last of the guards marched past, leaving the way clear to their destination.
They reached the end of the courtyard just as the Prince de Ligne sank down to one knee on a clean patch of pavement. The boy Caroline had glimpsed before, now revealed to have streaming gold curls and an adult’s courtly uniform, twisted free from his nursemaid’s grasp and raced across the pavement to land in the prince’s outstretched arms.
“Your Highness!”
Napoleon Bonaparte II’s chubby arms fastened around the prince’s neck. A pang of bittersweet emotion nearly
staggered Caroline as she observed their embrace.
To feel such pure trust—such innocent certainty of returned affection, even after so much abandonment and loss …
“A charming sight,” said the boy’s companion, stepping out from the shadowed archway. He bowed. “De Ligne, always an honor—and, of course, any guest of yours …”
Caroline’s breath stopped in her throat.
Nausea raced sickeningly up her chest as the muscles in her legs gave way. If it hadn’t been for Michael’s hand on her arm, she would have fallen.
Count Pergen straightened from his bow and smiled directly at her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Michael flinched as Caroline staggered against him. He found himself supporting all her weight in his hand. Only for a moment; by the time the elderly man before them had straightened from his bow, Caroline had recovered herself, her expression cold and distant. Michael kept his own expression affable and open, but his mind flicked into sudden, buzzing alertness.
“Count Pergen,” said the Prince de Ligne. He still knelt on the pavement nearby, holding the former king of Rome on his knee. “May I have the pleasure of introducing two new friends? Lady Wyndham, of England, and His Highness Prince Kalishnikoff, of Kernova-as-was.”
Count Pergen. Good God. Michael blinked and refocused on the man before them.
It was the devil of his childhood made flesh. Emperor Joseph’s hated minister of secret police, reviled by every pamphleteer and printer … every one of them, that was, who hadn’t already been arrested, beaten, and imprisoned by his men.
It was Pergen who had convinced the Enlightened emperor, Joseph II, to change his reforming laws, retract all his promises, and take away the freedom of the press less than a decade after it had been introduced to Austria for the first time in history.
Michael had never imagined that he would actually meet the devil … nor that Caroline would recognize him, when he did.
Pergen bowed over Caroline’s hand, smiling thinly. “Lady Wyndham. I’ve heard much about you already, from the most varied sources.”
“I thank you, sir.” Her voice sounded chillier than Michael had ever heard it.
He wondered whether she knew that she was leaning into him.
“And Prince … Kalishnikoff?” Pergen’s eyes narrowed as he turned to Michael. “I am, of course, honored to meet you.”
“As am I. It is a great pleasure, sir.” Michael smiled widely as he clasped the man’s hand. “My late father was always full of praise for your methods.”
He met Pergen’s gaze and felt his own smile falter in shock.
There was something dreadfully wrong with Pergen’s eyes. At first, Michael couldn’t place what it was. They were sunken, truly, into the bone, but more than that, there was something wrong—something unnatural …
“And I hope you agreed with your father?” Pergen asked, raising his thin eyebrows. His hand felt cold as ice in Michael’s grasp.
“Oh, I was never foolish enough to disagree with my father,” said Michael. “That would have been terribly impolitic.”
There. He had placed it.
There was no color around the pupils of Pergen’s eyes. The irises were a solid black. And more than that, when Michael looked closely—as closely as he could, while still maintaining discretion—the lines in Pergen’s eyes, which should have formed a faint tracery of red … those, too, were black. Even the whites of his eyes were faintly smudged.
It was as if the man were leaking darkness.
Michael felt an involuntary shiver sweep through him. He released Pergen’s hand before the other man could sense it.
Too late. “Cold, Your Highness?”
“The chill in the air.” Michael shrugged, forcing a laugh. “I fear I spent too many years in the East during my exile from my homeland. I’ve grown accustomed to warmth year-round.”
Pergen’s eyes narrowed. “So you spent those years in Turkey?”
“Among other pleasant spots.” Michael held his fixed smile with an effort. How widely spread was Pergen’s network by now? Could it really stretch so far as the Ottoman Empire to research Michael’s history? Surely not within the next month or so … or could it? He revised his imaginary history rapidly as he spoke. “And Persia, of course, for a year or two. I spent a few months in India, too, five years ago, but I didn’t find it suited me.”
“No? Many of Lady Wyndham’s compatriots have been making great fortunes there.”
“On the sweat of near slave labor,” Caroline said coolly. “It is hardly an achievement to boast about.”
“Indeed. And your own late husband’s fortune …”
She tightened her lips. “Is no longer invested there, you’ll find.”
“How delightful to meet a woman of principle.”
There was an undertone to Pergen’s last word that Michael caught, though he could not interpret it. Whatever it was, it made color flare in Caroline’s cheeks.
Michael pressed her elbow lightly, still smiling. Whatever her game might be, it could do neither of them any good to offend Emperor Francis’s retired spymaster.
The former king of Rome’s high, childish voice broke into the tense air as he jumped out of the Prince de Ligne’s arms, his face alight with excitement.
“You have? Truly? Where are they?”
“Ah,” Michael murmured, and turned with relief to the distraction. “I believe we have come to the matter of gifts.”
He drew back, pulling Caroline with him, as the Prince de Ligne summoned his footmen to bring the wrapped packages that had accompanied them on the drive. The boy viewed and discarded the gifts of clothing with disdain, then seized upon the largest package.
“This one?” he asked.
“That one,” De Ligne agreed. He stood, brushing off his breeches, and watched with indulgent interest as the boy tore open the wrapping.
“Ohhh …”
Michael blinked with controlled surprise, even as the child let out a sigh of wonder.
The “appropriate” gift was a highly detailed set of wooden soldiers, carved in wondrous detail.
“A squadron of Uhlans from Flanders, my homeland. They’ll move in whichever direction you choose,” De Ligne said. “Only set them on their wooden platform—you see?—and pull the lever, and they’ll march to your command.”
“They’re perfect,” the little boy breathed. “Oh, thank you, Your Highness! Thank you so much!”
“Perfect,” Michael echoed softly. He watched Napoleon Bonaparte’s son gaze down in open-mouthed delight at his miniature army, and he shook his head ruefully.
Perhaps blood did tell, after all.
“Why don’t you set them up in your rooms,” the prince suggested, “and I’ll join you there shortly to help you lead them in maneuvers.”
“Oh, yes! I certainly will.” The boy gathered up the package and ran at full tilt toward the closest palace door, followed by his sighing nursemaid.
Pergen regarded the prince with his head slightly tilted, like a snake judging whether to attack. “An interesting choice of gift, Your Highness.”
“Do you think so?” A faint sneer lifted de Ligne’s upper lip. “Myself, I thought it was traditional for every boy of rank to play at soldiers. Has he no other such toys to occupy him?”
“A few gifted by his own close relations, yes. And yet …”
“Then I see nothing in it to distress you.” De Ligne turned away, frowning. “Is his mother here today? I have a message or two to pass on to her as well.”
“The Archduchess Marie Louise has left for a tour of Switzerland,” Count Pergen said.
“Another? Good God, I thought she’d only returned from some such adventure.”
“Mm. The emperor has appointed her a new equerry, Count von Neipperg.”
“Ah. The very dashing Count von Neipperg.” The prince’s expression was difficult to read. “I understand. There’s been no more talk of joining her husband on Elba then, I take it?”
“The archduchess is quite content, now, to remain in her father’s palace, with … journeys of pleasure to while away the time.”
“I see. Well.” De Ligne wiped his hands against his trousers, as if wiping away a stench. “It’s all for the best, I suppose.”
The corners of Pergen’s lips lifted in a small, satisfied smile. “The emperor is certain of it.”
“Quite. Well then …” The prince took a breath. “I’d best be off to help the boy with his maneuvers as I promised.”
“I’ll watch, if I may,” Pergen said smoothly. “I am certain I will find it fascinating.”
“My friends?” De Ligne looked past him at Caroline and Michael.
Michael glanced sidelong at Caroline’s cold, set face. “I think not. If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness, I’ve spent too long sitting in a closed carriage. Will you join me, Lady Wyndham, for a stroll around the parkland?”
“Yes.” Caroline’s voice sounded half frozen; she turned like an automaton under his guiding hand. “Yes, I think that would be best.”
It wasn’t until they were far from the palace, strolling through rows of tall, protective hedges, past grand circles of flowerbeds and fountains, that she spoke to him again.
“I … thank you.” The words sounded constricted, as if she’d had to force them from her throat.
“It was nothing.” Michael shrugged, watching the tall hedges around them.
There were no gardeners foolish enough to be caught working at this time. The emperor himself might choose not to reside in Schönbrunn during the winter months, but royal etiquette demanded that the gardens appear at all times to be a work of nature rather than effort. The squadron of gardeners would have to do their work when there was no chance of being stumbled upon by casual visitors or their own imperial masters.
Still, Michael kept a wary eye on the hedges and the pathways beyond … just in case. He didn’t think the emperor would bother to set spies in his own gardens, but then, he hadn’t expected to meet with the former minister of secret police here, either.
“An odd companion for a small boy,” he mused aloud, low-voiced. “I wouldn’t have thought there would be any danger around the lad where he is, hidden out here with only a few selected visitors allowed to see him.”
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